


Awakenings

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything would be all right, if only Severus would just wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 Severus_Sighs angst/fest on IJ/DW.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters and their worlds belong to their original writers and no copyright infringement or offense is intended. No money was made from this story.

A warm hand in his, muted voices, familiar smells. 

A thumb, large and calloused, moving over his palm.

Awareness like the slow dawning of a rainy morning.

“He tried, Severus. He took us to you as soon as he finished off the bastard. The kid could barely walk he was so tired.” 

The thumb worked its way to the outside of his hand. Fingers and thumb squeezed softly.

“You’d have been proud of him. He told him off, circling him there right in the middle of the Great Hall. “’Severus Snape wasn’t yours,’ he told him. ‘Severus Snape was Dumbledore’s.’” An intake of breath. A quiet whisper. “You were Dumbledore’s, Severus. But you were also mine.”

The hands, the hands of his lover, large, capable hands supporting the weight of the Wizarding world while the Savior slept in a nearby bed, tucked locks of lanky hair behind the Headmaster’s ear. 

“Poppy said you should have woken hours ago….”

~~~

Hazy sleep. Pain, dully throbbing behind veiled eyes. The need to move, to stretch, to blink against the ray of sun warming his face. His lover’s voice again, raspy, worn.

“Remus is dead, Severus. And Tonks along with him. Harry met their son yesterday. He’s carrying on, Severus. You’d be so proud of him—so much like his mum. He’s got that strength inside him. He spent thirty minutes following me around yesterday telling me why you had to be exonerated. He wants an Order of Merlin for you, and a full pardon. And he’s asked that you be buried down at the lake beside Albus. A black marble tomb, with lilies planted around it.” 

A hand on his face, tracing his eyebrow with feather-light touch. A resigned sigh. “You’re still sleeping, Severus. Poppy says it’s been far too long.”

~~~

“They buried Fred Weasley today. I brought Harry back here after the services. He sat cross-legged in the grass for an hour down at Dumbledore’s tomb, talking to him, then he started throwing stones in the lake.” A soft chuckle. “He’s about cleared the shores, Severus, but no one’s stopping him. Sometimes, rocks just need to be thrown.” A thumb along his jaw line. He could feel his stubble, hear the scrape of callous against it. “She gave me some hope this morning. Said your heart rate was up a bit. That’s promising, right?”

Silence. Long moments of it. 

“If you pull out of this, there’ll be no more secrets. They all know, anyway. The Minister of Magic doesn’t spend hours at just anyone’s bedside.”

~~~

A different voice, a different touch. A hand atop his, tentative, lighter than Kingsley’s. “You’ve got to wake up, Headmaster. The castle isn’t being cooperative at all. No one can get into your office since they repaired the gargoyle. The house elves make breakfast for lunch and pudding for breakfast and are all out of sorts. The ghosts are being difficult since Colin Creevey showed up. He’s driving them spare with that camera. And Kingsley is exhausted. He’s here all night, every night, and Poppy laced his tea with Dreamless Sleep yesterday just so he’d take a nap. Hogwarts needs you, sir. We need you.” A scrape of wood on stone as the chair was scooted closer to his bed. “ _Kingsley_ needs you.”

Well, there was nothing for it then, was there? Eyes closed a week opened the barest amount, a narrow slit showing obsidian darkness and nothing more. A finger, a single finger, beneath the hand of the Boy Who Lived Again, lifted off the sheets. Green eyes, bright, disbelieving, focused on his face. The chair scraped again, tumbled backward. He could barely cringe as it hit the floor.

“Kingsley!”

~~~

“So many dead.” His voice was still a broken whisper.

“So many saved.” His voice was strong and confident. 

The long-fingered hand ran down the side of the marble tomb. “He would be proud of Potter. He did what had to be done.”

A dark hand settled over his on the white tomb. “He would be proud of you, Severus. The victory is yours as well.”

“I hated him.”

“Yet you loved him.”

The two men, a study in contrasts, dark and light, broad and narrow, weak and strong, walked together to the edge of the lake. Kingsley bent down and picked up a stone, tossing it into the air and catching it, testing its weight. Without comment he placed it in Severus’ hand then whistled in approval as the rock sailed high over the water and landed with a satisfying splash a long way out.

Severus smiled, then bent to pick up another. Kingsley reached out to support him as he waivered on still-weak legs.

Sometime, rocks just needed to be thrown.


End file.
